Alzheimer’s is often described as a thief that steals your loved one away long before they pass. This was true for my mum, who lived with the disease for 20+ years before her physical body finally caught up with her deteriorating mind. But while Alzheimer’s brought its share of heartache and loss, it also gifted us with unexpected moments of shared joy, laughter, and connection that I will cherish forever.
Mum was always a woman of immense capability and boundless love. Even as Alzheimer’s took hold, fragments of her vibrant personality would break through, often in ways that were unexpectedly delightful. These moments became our lifelines, helping us navigate the challenges of her illness with a focus on the positive, rather than the pain of what we were losing.
One of the greatest lessons I learned during Mum’s illness was to lean into the comedy of certain situations. Whether it was her unexpected fascination with men’s bottoms (which became more pronounced as the disease progressed) or her insistence that she had spent the entire day working in the garden when she hadn’t stepped outside in years, these quirks brought a much-needed levity to our lives.
I’ll never forget the time Mum, who had never been much of a drinker, discovered the joys of sherry. She would sneak sips, often forgetting she had already indulged, and then wander around the house marvelling with us at the suddenly vibrant colours in what was, in reality, a very grey sky. Or the countless times she played Boggle with us, always finding the word “het,” which she confidently explained as meaning “het up for sexual intercourse.”
Even when her memory faltered and she began repeating stories or mixing up names, these moments were filled with warmth and shared laughter. She would hear one of us tell a personal story and immediately claim it as her own, weaving it into her narrative as though it had happened to her. It was her way of staying connected, and instead of correcting her, we would join in and enjoy the retelling together.
Managing Mum’s care was a team effort – she had seven children, and we were able to share the honour and challenges of supporting her. We quickly learned that structure and routine were our best allies. We established a daily rhythm that included activities she enjoyed, like knitting, even though her output eventually became a seemingly endless stream of dolls and slippers. The spare room turned into a shrine to these creations, a testament to her enduring creativity. Despite her exceptional knitting skills, there came a point when even that became too difficult. She would cast on, knit a few rows, forget what she was making, unravel it all, and start over—again and again.
We also made sure to honour Mum’s need for independence and dignity as much as we could during the various stages of deterioration, discovering that leaving notes for her in places she was likely to visit would help her remember to take her medicine or put her used diapers in the right places.
As Mum’s condition worsened, it became clear that our time with her was limited. But instead of focussing on the impending loss, we chose to celebrate the life she had lived. We spent hours letting her brain recall the parts it could, going through old photos, sharing stories, and laughing about the mishaps and adventures that had shaped our family. Sometimes she would remember and participate; other times, she would sit back, content to let her children laugh and chat amongst themselves.
Mum’s legacy is one of resilience, love, and an ability to find joy in the simplest of things. Even as Alzheimer’s took its toll, those qualities shone through, reminding us that while the disease could steal her memories, it couldn’t take away her spirit.
